Andrea de Abre e Gouvea, MS2 University of Wisconsin-Madison School of Medicine and Public Health
I. Yarn
Tangled and knotted on the inside, we are a ball of yarn
Not like those at the store– find the end of the sting, pull once, twice, and
it unravels into spirals of grace
We are not like that.
Made of a multicolored string, but I don’t know how the colors bleed
Only catching glimpses of blue before it vanishes into the labyrinth of green and yellow threads
I want to be untangled, but I can’t find the ends
The search for vanished edges requires patience, and a rare form of love
The love we keep for ourselves.
II. Unconditional love
There is a boy on the stage in a late 1920s theater. Only it’s not a boy, it’s a college graduate wearing a golden sash over his black cap and gown.
He’s been carefully selected by the professors to be the second of four students to speak to his class, and of course, the parents who wouldn’t miss this day for anything less than the end of the world.
When the boy steps in front of the podium, all I hear is his self-consciousness. Every word out of his mouth, drowns in his body language.
The speech told through his eyes goes: I’m honored to— stand up straight— with you today— Annunciate my words— as we transition to— stay in the lower register of my voice— It was just yesterday— eye contact— found our calling— read the words, say the words, hear the words…
Finished, he stands on stage right next to the other student speaker. He places his paper and hands in front of his robe, and breaths for the first time in 5 minutes.
I am brave, I was brave, that was brave… his exhale is visible from the back balcony.
It was not a moving speech, far from it. It was cliché and full of stereotypical apothegms… It’s easy to say a lot of words that mean nothing of any importance.
But, importance is subjective.
There is a woman standing on the balcony in a late 1920s theater. Only it’s not a woman, it’s a mother wearing her proudest face. She has been waiting since the ceremony began with her camera at the ready. She has been waiting for the boy to deliver the speech she has undoubtedly already heard.
When her son steps in front of the podium, mother listens to a different speech, it goes:
“I love you, mom”
And when her son stands next to the other graduate, she watches his exhale and mouths, you are brave, you were brave, that was brave.
Then she sits for the first time since the ceremony, wiping tears from her eyes.
It was a moving speech.
From the first word to the last, the most important part was that he was up there at all.
III. A Student of Anatomy
I didn't know how to prepare myself for the uncovering
“There is no more life here,” say my instincts reading beyond the bright lights, metal table, and scrubs.
But as the white blanket fell away, death was not the first to arrive.
Despite the gray skin and stiff limbs, all we saw were your tattoos.
In a moment where I braced myself for death, all I was reminded of was life. The designs on your body immortalizing your story.
Getting to meet you in this way, was a privilege I didn’t know I deserved.
It happens again, a second uncovering.
I’m still not sure how to prepare.
As meetings with any new individual goes, the experience with one is not comparable to that of another.
I brace myself again, the sheet falls away, and there are your perfectly painted purple nails.
So much of who we are is expressed in the way we present ourselves to the world: the way we talk, the clothes we wear, the faces we make…
Much like tattoos, purple nails are remnants of a life.
This feels like a secret I can’t believe I get to know.
Dear donors,
I hope you know how grateful I am for the incredibly random events that lead us all here today. I try to remember to wallow in the seconds of transition, to feel the discomfort and every emotion surrounding it. To remind myself that to be human, is to experience the complexity of our emotions. Thank you for sharing your final self with us medical students. Your stories have not gone unheard, nor have the importance of these connections been lost.
Thank you
About the Author: I am a second year medical student at the University of Wisconsin-Madison School of Medicine and Public Health. In 2020, I graduated from Northwestern University with a degree in Neuroscience and a minor in Creative Writing. Before starting at UWSMPH, I completed a two year post-baccalaureate research fellowship at the NIMH. I spent the majority of my childhood living in Evanston, IL. I am the daughter of Brazilian immigrants and grew up speaking Portuguese at home and English at school. While I may not have a lot of free time nowadays, I love cooking for friends and family, going to the movies, and making pottery.
About the Work: Here are three poems I wrote during my second year of medical school: Yarn, Unconditional Love, and A Student of Anatomy. The first poem was based on an abstract conversation I had with a close friend. The second poem tells a fictional story based on observations I made at my younger siblings' college graduation. The last poem is an adaptation of a reflective essay I wrote after my final anatomy lab.
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